HAPPY NEW YEAR!…Oh, wait, I missed it. Well, I’ve been busy, ok? What? Anyway, Sabrina’s rolling over now, and discovering her feet, Fletcher’s been panhandling in church (more on that later!), and learning to jump and do headstands! I’m having visions of stitches and blood in my future…wait, that could just be Monday. *sigh* No news yet on the department transfer at work, but now it’s looking unlikely to happen for at least 6 months. *sigh* The hours between 4 and 6pm have become the Witching Hour around here. Nobody’s happy, everybody screams, guess they’ll go eat worms…! YCU hurt his back last week, so that’s been fun. Now he’s convinced he’s old and breaking down. He’s 36. I know. I can’t convince him any different. Bless his heart.

So, Fletcher. What can I say about Fletcher? He’s a little hambone, but we knew that already. I walked into the new(ish) babysitter’s house one day to find Fletcher and his little friend Liam both sitting in the bad chair across the room from each other. When I asked what happened, she told me that she’d told them to pick up their toys and they simultaneously threw something at her! He’s learned to hit and throw things when he’s angry now, (I can only assume from the other little boy, we do our best to behave ourselves in front of the offspring) so we’re trying to break that bad habit. So, panhandling. Yeah, my son could make a killing on the side of the road, I tell ya. We went to Sunday School this week and they have a little collection jar there that the kids put their SS offering in every week. They love to hear the coins jingle. Fletcher loves that thing. I can give him 6 pennies and that jar, and he’ll stay occupied all through SS. Yes, I know he’s supposed to be paying attention, but he’s 2. It’ll come in time, right? Anyway, we got there early, and he grabbed the jar first thing. We went upstairs to the devotional and as I was greeting some fellow churchgoers, I looked up and danged if every one of those old men in the Amen Corner wasn’t cleaning out their pockets, giving him change! I’m pretty sure my face went white as I squeaked “My son is panhandling at church!” His teacher said she’d start a collection for the snacks and just let him head the committee. I have new pictures! Look!

and, as usual, it was too good to be true. Tennessee has breastfeeding laws, and I was all excited thinking I could go pump whenever I needed to, and that my employer was required to let me go. Not really. I’m so upset. It says they have to let us have unpaid breaks, but only if it doesn’t disrupt business as usual. So they really don’t have to, because anytime you take a break as an OR nurse, you’re interrupting business as usual because they have to relieve you in a room, or the patient might roll to the room later, etc. Why even make a law if they can’t be more decisive than that? So now, I’m back to square one, trying to finagle time during a busy day without being dependent on my employers to provide it. What happens is I get stuck in a room with no relief, full to bursting, and I just have to suffer because they keep effing firing everybody and they have no help, and the charge nurse won’t come relieve you for a few minutes because they’re too busy “managing”. I need more control than that. I need a job where it’s not imperative that I be stuck and dependent on someone else’s good graces to take care of bodily functions.

I’ve decided to transfer up to the ICU and eventually go to school to become a CRNA. I hate school with a hairy passion, but I hate my job right now worse. I was dreading going back to work, I’m not focused, and I don’t want to be there. I have to force myself to get up and gird my loins for work every morning. You spend waaaaaay too much time at work to be unhappy,in my opinion, so it’s time to do something new.

In other news, Fletcher’s beginning to realize that Sabrina’s not going away. He is not amused. Alas. I have new pictures. My offspring:

and what I actually did were at war with each other, but it worked, for now. Yes, folks, I’ve had another run-in with the crazy neighbor. He tried to call the codes/restriction department for the city and get us fined for working on a car outside the garage (to the side of the house). We got the letter while I was in the hospital, and initially, I wanted to run out of there in my backless gown and whoop his ass. Personally. Yeah, it was the dope talking, I know. However, after I calmed down, I wanted to go to the H.ustler Hollywood store, buy a footlong d.ildo, and wrap it up with a ribbon and a note:

Dear STUPID NEIGHBOR, You are cordially invited to go f.uck yourself. Here’s a little gift to get the party started! Love, Nina and YCU.

So, maybe it wasn’t the dope talking, but I digress. Anyway, the letter stated that we had to work on the car on gravel/pavement that wasn’t a sidewalk (the whole sideyard is gravel), and it had to be enclosed on 3 sides ( let’s see…rock wall, rock wall, house, check!) and the car couldn’t be unregistered (well, I’m pretty sure that stickers on the license plate that say 2011 aren’t out of date yet, buy who am I to make that call?). Does all this sound stupid to anyone else? My husband confronted the guy and was informed that Stupid Neighbor and our other 2 adjoining neighbors had had a meeting about us and that no one wanted to live around us because we were so trashy. WAIT A MINUTE. HOLD THE PHONE. Just who the HELL you callin’ trashy? How dare he? I’m sorry, but he didn’t have any meeting, cause the other two neighbors wave at us when they see us and ask about the kids. Sorry, jackass, you’re nothing but a controlling, bullying, hypocritical person of suspect parentage, and you don’t get to threaten us. If I want to paint my house orange with purple polka dots, it’s MINE, motherfu.cker!! Anyway, so Monday, when he was mowing our grass (at 8am, no less), I marched out there in my bathrobe and bare feet and ordered him off our property. I also threatened to have him arrested for trespassing if he ever showed up over here again. He started spouting codes and policies, to which I responded: “We’re not in violation yet, so you can leave. NOW!” He then started spouting how Jesus loves me and God will take care of my family…whatever. I informed him he was a hypocritical bastard and gave him the “You’re #1” sign, then walked back in the house. Haven’t laid eyes on him since, but…you know we will again. He apparently has Alzheimer’s where we’re concerned. My next move is to call the police and tell them he’s been peeping in my windows. Which he technically has, since he takes it on himself to push our trashcans up from the road each week and he has to look right in the windows behind the cans…But that’s only if he shows up again.

Hello world! Party can start, I’m here!!! I’m Sabrina, and I got here Tuesday, via the scenic route. I’ve had kind of a big week. First, I got born, which made me cold, then they kept sticking my foot to see why I’m all yellow. Mama says I look like a punkin’. My big brother doesn’t quite know what I’m supposed to do, he wants to play, but Mama and Daddy won’t let him. I weighed 6lbs and 6oz when I got here, same as my brother. I’m short, though. Only 17 inches. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes!

I do. And did I mention that I love my doctor for giving me one? My maternity leave’s starting today. I have cankles, my bp’s up a little, everything hurts, and Little Miss Stubborn still hasn’t turned. So. Unless I think she’s turned by Monday morning, I’m to show up Tuesday morning to Labor and Delivery for a c-section.

Yesterday was horrible. Suffice it to say, EVERYTHING went wrong. I don’t think I had a single case go correctly, specimens got confused, equipment was malfunctioning, we thought we were ready but weren’t, as we didn’t have all the stuff in the room, you name it, it happened. I ended up in tears in the assistant director’s office, just needing a break. I just sort of unloaded. I’m stressed out, burnt out, and tuckered out, and I’m so glad I don’t have to see that place for at least 8 weeks, I can hardly stand myself right now. So. My plan is to pack a bag, clean up, straighten up, and put up, and relax for the next few days.

I’m singing the Elmo Song trying to get my daughter to turn in utero. (I’ll give you a hint. Every song he sings is to the tune of “Jingle Bells”.) So far, no luck. My doc’s giving me till next week, then she’s scheduling me for a c-section. Yay. I’m 36 weeks, 3 days, today.

In other news, Fletcher said “Bear Bear” last night, and “Duck”!! Finally. Sorry for the short post, not much going on here.

I’m 35 weeks and 1 day, today. She’s decided to show her butt again. As in frank breech. Wheeeee! NOT. Otherwise, she’s perfect. Fletcher’s decided he hates going out to eat, and showed out spectacularly at the Logan’s Roadhouse on Monday. Prostrated himself in the floor and everything. Yes, with the peanut shells and God-only-knows-what-else on the floor. *sigh* Once we got to my grandparents’ house, they have a piano and a big room to run in, so problem solved. He could just run around. They gave me a shower a few Sundays ago, and my spawn was pilfering off the refreshment table. You can’t take him anywhere.

Yep, peoples, that’s all I’ve got left! I’m so looking forward to not being preggo anymore. I think I’m done.
In other news, my best friend gave me a baby shower today! I got soooooo much cute stuff! Diapers and girls clothes mostly, but that’s perfect, cause now I don’t have to dress her in tractors and sheep. And we’ll have enough diapers to get us through for a few months, I think. My MIL fell at the shower today. She was running after Fletcher and tripped over her own feet. After making sure she was ok, my best friend and were talking it over, and she mentioned that she (MIL) had a red mark on her head where she hit the door. Fletcher does this often. He also tends to put his pinky toe on the outside of his sandals. My friend noted this in my MIL. We got so tickled, we had tears running down our faces. I know, this is bad. Luckily, she really was fine, but after the initial respiratory distress, it was highly amusing. I know, I’m rotten. There’s supposed to be a shower for me at work, sometime, but no one’s put up signs for it yet, so they may have decided against it. But, I think I’m set, for a bit.

Update: I’ve been contracting off and on all week. Some of them are just Braxton-Hicks, and I know this because it doesn’t feel like the real thing (I know, because I had precisely 3 of those real ones before I squealed like a little piglet for an epidural), but dagnabit, some of those suckers hurt! I had to sit down twice today! My doc says as long as it’s under 6 an hour, not to worry about it. Ok, says I. So far they’re easily calmed with rest and a glass of water. Hopefully it stays that way.

I forgot to tell you about my experience with the P.oison C.ontrol center. Yeah, Friday night, Fletcher grabbed hold of his talcum powder and dumped it in his face. I was terrified he’d inhaled some of it, and most likely swallowed some. They were very prompt, calming, didn’t make me wait on hold forever, and I didn’t feel like a crazy nurse mother (we medical professionals are known for freaking out when it’s our kin involved, you know) for calling, so over all, I was impressed. But, because I’m a medical professional who freaks out when my kin are involved, I also called the pediatrician, just to be certain that everyone was in agreement. Because I’m paranoid like that. I know, I have issues. I’m ok with it. Everyone was in agreement, so I just watched him for an hour, gave him something to drink, and slept with the baby monitor on all night, the better to hear him breathing strangely, should such catastrophe befall us. All’s well. He’s got this cough and a runny nose now, but I’m pretty sure it’s a combo of teething and allergies. So, we’re chasing his nose and doctoring his bottom with butt spackle, and trying not to go into labor too soon. I really can’t wait till she gets here. I love ruffles and hair bows.

*beleaguered sigh* Last week, I picked Fletcher up at the sitter’s, and he had a black eye. I was properly horrified, however, they explained that he’d tripped over some of his toys and fell head first into some of his other toys. Several weeks ago, I picked him up(after dropping him off early) and they told me he’d slept so long, and they knew I’d be there just any time, so he hadn’t had lunch yet. I dropped him off at 6am, and this was 2:30-3:00. Um. Yeah, that’s a long time for someone his age to go without eating, folks. So then, this past Friday, I picked him up, and he came around the corner and ran to me, while they were all sitting in the living room, not following him around to watch him. Most days, I have to change his extremely wet diaper when I get there. Then I found his sippy cup from that morning, still containing the remnants of his first cup of milk. (I only know this because my husband put a scoop of his protein shake in it. Fletcher likes the chocolate taste of it. I’ve asked politely that he not do this again, as it will likely turn Fletcher into the Incredible Hulk.) Then, there was only one diaper missing from the diaper bag all day. If all these things were isolated incidents, I could see letting it go, but they aren’t. So, today, we dropped him off with a new babysitter. More expensive, naturally, but we’ll just have to rough it. I still have to go over to the old sitter’s house and pick up his toys. When I left this morning, he was happy and playing, so I didn’t worry. But when I got there, his other eye was black, and there was a cut beneath it! I know my child’s a klutz, and can trip over his own feet, so I’m not blaming the old or the new sitter for that, after all, kids are gonna have accidents. But…*sigh*